


Five Feet Deep

by PassiveGood



Category: The Shape of Water (2017)
Genre: I Don't Think That's Sanitary, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Underwater Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 16:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14109099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PassiveGood/pseuds/PassiveGood
Summary: He holds himself up with his strong arms so that their faces are level; his breath smells of fruits and there’s a faint tinge of blood, too. She glances down at his lips, then back into his eyes—brushes a stray leaf off his shoulder. After all this time, the closeness of his body, the smell of him, the way he looks at her still make her body react with immediate and intense desire.





	Five Feet Deep

She’s sitting on an old, long abandoned wooden dock, overgrown with lush vines and moss, her feet dangling in the murky water, rhythmically moving like a ticking clock. The sun is setting and the last rays tickle her slightly wet skin through the thick branches. She listens to the sounds of the jungle as some creatures are getting ready to turn in for the night while others are just starting to come out of their hiding places. A plum throated cotinga chirps somewhere above her, a howler monkey croons in the distance, perhaps calling for its mate, waiting—just like she is waiting for hers.

She etches a little mental strike into her mind with each sunset, and this is the three hundred and sixty fifth time she does that. She thought she’d lose track of time here, where days are endless and nights are even longer, but she can’t help it. Not when there isn’t a single day when she doesn’t think of Giles, of Zelda; when there isn’t a single day when she doesn’t miss her friends. Sometimes, mostly when rain is pouring, she thinks of Strickland, too. She shakes her head. There was a tingle in her stomach all day, she couldn’t help feeling this day should special. Like an anniversary, like a birthday. She never had a proper birthday, sometimes they went out with Giles on a random day in April, when the weather was getting nicer and they could afford it, and it was perfectly enough for her. Why couldn’t this be her birthday, her  _real_  birthday. October 10th.

One year. One year of living with slightly thicker, shinier skin—her fingers don’t get prune-y anymore—stronger hair, more sensitive eyes and better hearing. The skin between her fingers and does is also a bit longer, wider, but it’s barely noticeable. One year of rising with the scarlet macaws and the yellow headed caracaras each morning and going to sleep floating above the river bed with kelp and his limbs tangled around her limbs to keep them from drifting apart. She touches the three little slits on either side of her throat; they flutter. One year of adjusting to this new existence: learning to swim, learning to survive, eating the most delicious fruits she’d ever tasted in her life, watching him hunt and just  _being_  without a care in the world.

One year with  _him_.

* * *

He went away a few hours ago, looking for food, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She still slows him down, no matter how hard she tries. So, she’s counting the strokes of her legs, waiting for him to return, scanning the river for any sign of him. But she knows there’s little use to that, he swims without sound, without creating any ripples on the surface. He changed when they got back to his home. She didn’t think the way he moved could get more graceful, his muscles stronger, his scales shinier… and yet they did. He is happy here; more vocal, more energetic and simply content.

As if on cue, his head emerges from the water, revealing his golden eyes—just like when she first offered him an egg in the lab—catching the faint sunlight. She smiles, her feet stop their lazy kicking.

Her fingers quickly sign  _H-E-L-L-O_ , but just when she wants to jump into the river and swim to him, he disappears under the surface once again. She holds her breath, waiting for his next move; and soon enough he touches her ankle under the water, the barest of touches that makes her shiver with surprise. As she moves to lower herself from the dock to join him, webbed hands emerge on either side of her and his claws scrape the surface of the wooden planks before he raises himself out of the water. He holds himself up with his strong arms so that their faces are level; his breath smells of fruits and there’s a faint tinge of blood, too. She glances down at his lips, then back into his eyes—brushes a stray leaf off his shoulder. After all this time, the closeness of his body, the smell of him, the way he looks at her still make her body react with immediate and intense desire. She glides a hand along the side of his face. Does he have any idea that the past three hundred and sixty five days were the happiest time of her life? Does he even know that she would do it all over again for him? That she would die for him a thousand times and more?

She wants to show him. So, she places a hand on his chest and pushes him down, he chirps and plays along—falls right back into the river, and she follows. By slipping beneath the water, she enters an underworld. Dream-like shapes—fish or aqueous plants—float in the corners of her eyes, sounds lengthened and distorted, moss from the river bed smeared on her legs like alien creatures. Her own body feels like a dream she would soon wake from. She floats to the surface, takes a slow inhale, exhale, inhale, dives under again. Up and back under, her human instincts still ingrained in her. The creeping darkness of dusk and the murky river swirling below draws no line between them. She is lost in a primal birth of water.

His hands stay resolutely at his sides until he swims closer to her, a smile tugging at his lips, then grabs tightly onto her hips when a current knocks her back. He can balance fine in the rollicking water, easily compensating for change in stream and depth. The moment she stands before him, he buries his face in the soft, small cushion of her belly. Her skin tingles from his breath and from his nose as he nuzzles against it, and she instinctively reaches out to caress his head. He gently pulls her down, using her movement to kiss his way up to her face. He doesn’t claim her lips, though, but only hovers there before them for countless moments, as if leaving the decision to her. She gasps and lunges forward, trying to catch him by the shoulder. He trills and squawks, feeling suddenly playful. He moves back, teasing, and she follows until the water is up to her shoulders. There. Now they can be face to face instead of him staring up, up, up her small frame.

She leans forward and meets him halfway and he moves to find her lips with his. She lets her hands wander over his wet skin, glowing golden in the faint moonlight, down to his lower back and then up again until they rest on his shoulders.

He wants to burn the feel of her lips and tongue into his mind; wants to remember the taste of her, that bittersweet mixture of maracuja and rumberries she had eaten when they had lunch together earlier; wants to recognize every single muscle movement, ever reaction she shows when she gives in to a kiss like the one they share now. She moans silently and sighs, and he swallows the small noises of her reactions as if they are the oxygen of his soul, the food his want lasciviously feasts on.

Their bodies are pressed closely together, and his hands are free to roam. When he finally decides to add touch to kiss, his hands are everywhere at once, never getting enough of the feel of her soft, creamy skin beneath his rough fingers as he caresses and fondles and massages her, tracing the lines of her delicate figure, weighing her breasts in his fingers like they were made solely for him, molded to fit the shape and size of his hands. He circles his legs around her thighs, fins fluttering against her bare calves. Surprised at the slick, supple contact, she gasps into their kiss. He inhales it, takes in her air, directly from her lungs, and she is momentarily arrested by the intimacy of that act.

She licks the exquisitely cut lips moving against her own, feels for the interior softness, chases wet heat until his tongue again plays with her own, strong, thick, deliberately writhing and confident. They are both making noises, little grunts and whimpers of satisfaction, hands rapidly moving from face, to shoulder, to waist, unable to settle. He tightens his legs, pulling her closer, but then he pulls back with a stifled growl. Of course, he doesn’t let her go; he grabs her securely in strong arms, tilts himself back in the water so that she stretches out a bit across his chest, her short legs kicking alongside his long ones.

She has to settle for nuzzling his neck while water laps at her ribs and hips. But he is strong, and her entire upper body is almost completely above the water; they don’t sink, but bob like corks. She licks the wet salt of his neck, and bites at the delicate skin below his jaw. He jerks beneath her, groaning, so she nips again, harder, and again, taking in a larger mouthful of flesh this time. His hips pump against her own and she chuckles soundlessly.

This time she sucks, slow and hard, timing each pull to match his liquid movements against her. He grunts and she exhales in response, letting it vibrate through his chest. She mouths down his neck, encounters the ridges leading to his gills, and dodges around them, nibbling instead on the soft flesh under his chin while his hands slip from her hips to her ass. She presses down onto his hardening groin area between her legs, tries to submit her own hands to mimic the attentions he is giving her, and return them. He doesn’t let her though, but holds her fast with an uncanny ability, all the while he is still skimming and stroking her body... like an artist painting the most stunning of pictures. His hands are roaming over her stomach, flicking her nipples and wandering down to squeeze her ass. He starts biting her earlobe, breathing hot and heavily into her ear, nibbling along her jawline. Her hips make an involuntary thrust, creating friction between them and she gasps at the sensation.

All of a sudden, one hand slips over her heated center, making her yelp without a sound in surprise and arousal. With their kiss involuntarily broken, he takes his chance to carefully watch her face as his fingers sneak into her, creeping slowly forwards, first one, then two and three at last, and even he has to hold on then, sure that her inner fire would leave burn marks on the digits. Lazily she opens her eyes when he pulls away all too soon, protesting slightly.

He disengages her legs, eels around with a kick, and dives under, holding her by the hips. It’s far too dark now even for him to see underwater, and he needs both hands to support her, so he explores with his mouth, starting at the delightfully intriguing flesh of her inner thighs, tonguing his way up until he encounters his goal. He inhales deeply, water rushing pleasantly across his gills. He can smell her, faintly permeating the water around them, sweet and mysterious. She tastes like she smells—deliciously exciting. He goes straight for her center without hesitation, circling his tongue around the sensitive bud of nerves and then flicking it teasingly. The body between his hands is shaking, and he holds it harder against his face, licking and sucking, probing inside at the hot velvety tissue he feels there. She’s pulsing around his tongue, conveying her arousal with each rippling contraction. That agile muscle, wiggling and sucking beneath her, oh, God, it’s sinfully decadent and painfully erotic, all the more for not being able to see. For not knowing exactly what he is doing. Anything can be down there, and she is at her most vulnerable, legs opened wide as fingers caress and pull at her skin, his mouth positioned between her thighs. But she trusts him. To keep her safe from whatever else may be swimming in the deep dark water.

He doesn’t let her find her release just yet, he swims back up and shifts his grip until he holds her by the buttocks, hands keeping her spread and open. He gasps as he breaches the surface, and whips his body so that one of his legs is between her thighs. He kicks with his other leg and guides them out to smoother waters, closer to the shore. Gold phosphorescence glows around them as he swims, and she trails a curious hand through, watching as the streaming light swirls down deeper in the eddy behind her fingers. She lifts it and flicks, and a little shower of stars scatter across his face. She lets out a hushed laugh, and for less than a second, her eyelashes are shining, too. She leans down to kiss him again, and it’s all hot mouths and hard teeth, deep-plunging exploratory tongues, and frantic, gulping suckling. She can’t get enough, opening her mouth wider, fighting his tongue, feeling the scaled legs against her thighs mimic the movement of the tongue in her mouth, wet muscle —twisting, and gliding, flicking and thrusting.

He pulls back and shakes his head a little; more golden drops fly back to the river. A distinctive, familiar ridge is developing against her stomach, and she rubs against it. He grunts, his eyes half shut, his lips swollen in the scant light of a slivered moon. He uses her arse as a guide, rocking her slowly up and down, body undulating like waves underneath him. She whimpers, and lets her knees fall to either side, clamping the thick, smooth tendons of his waist between his thighs. It nestles her center close against those scales, and she shudders from her head to her toes, holding hard with hand and legs.

She holds herself canted over him with one hand, the shoulder beneath it steady as a rock, slimy and hard with muscle. She carves signs onto his scales, one’s he’s already more than familiar with.  _Please. More._  She grinds herself down, teasing. He groans and squirms again, dropping his head back. He grabs her hips hard, and moves her. Her legs are clamped tight, chasing sensation, and he has to shake her loose. She is resettled a bit further up, and suddenly, there is his length, wedged firmly against her, where it’s best to ride, floating gently in the water. She rolls her hips again, eyes shut tight in pleasure as he surges up, his shaft hot underneath him and pressing against her entrance. Carefully he lifts her higher up, never once breaking the erotic game the lips and tongues are playing again, until her shoulders are completely out of the water, his erection nestles against her folds, tickling and rubbing and teasing the sensitive flesh that waits to be finally permitted attention. She wriggles for a few moments, then just writhes in tiny back and forth movements, relishing the feel of him between her legs, the glassy brush of scale against her most sensitive areas. Her hand glides under the water and she thumbs over the slit, and rubs the ridge of the crown. The viscous fluid from his internal sheath lubricates him, and she is moving easily now, fierce and intent. She let her hips sink down, until she is floating again, and holds him firmly about the ribs.

Her legs wind around his waist, and she impatiently urges him to complete their joining, letting the tip of his want brush her nether lips. Finally, finally he claims her, slips into her welcoming heat and is hugged tightly by it, gripped almost, as if it never wanting to let go again. He remains motionless, for just a few seconds, when they are staring into each other's eyes, touching each other, body and soul, being intimately connected, the rigid proof of his still-strong need for her imbedded in the fiery case of hers. When he begins the movements of his hips, they are soft, but punctuated. He knows exactly how to rock against her to make her body boneless. No ramming, no abandoned plunging, only gentle thrusting that is angled skillfully and rubs against every possible and impossible sensitive part of her sex, inside and out.

She pants and whimpers helplessly, the lines on her neck opening and closing as she clings to him, the grip of her hands tightening on his shoulders. He is driving her crazy. She wants nothing more than for him to take her hard and fast, end this sweet torture. What he is doing is good… it’s incredible. But her desire, the raging flame is burning inside her. He, however, is having none of it. He continues his slow movements, unimpressed by her uncontrolled writhing and wriggling, knowing all too well that in the end, it would be more effective than any frantic pounding could ever be. And until then, holding her on the brink of her climax and letting her die a thousand beautiful deaths is something he would never regret doing.

To him, she is the most beautiful being in the whole universe in these moments. Her lips slightly parted, her head thrown back, her wet hair wild around her head. Rivulets of water are running down her face as her fingers move uncontrollably, forming signs that don’t even exist. The long strokes he subjects her to push her slightly up and let her fall down again, and her soft, round mounds follow the movement, rising towards him, being offered invitingly every time he pushes into her. It’s a temptation hard to resist, especially because he knows how wonderful they feel to his lips, his tongue, his teeth; but he can’t risk this additional stimulation.

He reaches out with his hand and places them on her waist instead, sending delicious shivers down her spine. Her arms suddenly develop a mind of their own and snake up around his neck, pulling his amazing face within kissing distance. When their lips meet, sparks explode behind her closed eyelids and an almost electrical shock runs through her. His tongue shoves its way into her mouth and she sighs, pressing into his body and dropping a hand from behind his head to caress his muscles on his abdomen. They are just as amazing to touch as they are to look at, and a tidal wave of desire rushes through her veins, making her moan into his mouth.

Her arms are trembling and she tucks her head under his chin, sucking at the delicate scaled skin of his neck and nosing his angular jaw. He’s stretching her right to the point where she can sense it’s about to be mind-blowingly good, but not too far for it to get painful. She sighs, sucking at his tongue almost mindlessly. He moves in a little more, harder, as she demonstrates enthusiastic acquiescence, melting into bonelessness, pliable in his arms. He goes deep, seats himself fully. Her entire body throbs with her pulse and he can feel it in his shaft, feel it through his chest, feel it in the suction of her mouth.

He feels her trying to pull herself closer to him, press her breasts against his chest, and yet it’s not enough. A breathless whisper is all she’s capable to bring forth as a desperate plea to grant her release. He shifts her, just a little bit, changing the angle he meets her with, lets the strength of his hips support her. When he takes one arm off her, he reaches between them, slicking his palm down her stomach, caressing her brokenly as he begins to lose rhythm. She whimpers, shakes, and drops her head to bite at his shoulder, digging her ankles into the small of his back while he lets his fingers ghost over the hardened nub he finds there.

She doesn’t know if it’s his bioluminescence or sparks behind her eyelids that are lighting up the night. The catch and drag on the skin of his length… he pulls all the way out, and plunges back in. She trembles, bucking against him, and each breath is a moan, a constant low noise of pleasure so intense it’s nearly anguish. She gasps and tenses, waiting for him to have mercy. But he holds her there, in between worlds; holds her where she doesn’t know anymore whether she is still alive or whether she had already drowned and crossed over to oblivion. Her mind is whirling, any rational sense and thought out of reach, and the beginning of her own cry of release a silent echo inside her body, when it doesn’t yet let go from her lips, but rolls back even though it’s desperate to be let out. He claims her lips in a short, but hard kiss, robbing her of her breath again—only to force every last bit of air out of her lungs when he thrusts more forceful once, twice, and rubs her center at the same time, sending her into a frantic climax that has her world spiral out of control. She whimpers and pants, her whole body convulsing.

It’s when he picks up speed and brings himself to a fiery culmination as well, letting his hot flood pour into her, something she is merely able to acknowledge with a weak whine. He comes with a force that blurs reality for a long moment, his only two thoughts the thrumming of his body and the woman in his arms. They shudder through the aftershocks, kissing necks and cheeks, hands stroking backs, bodies doing gentle rolls against one another to remind them of their peak, not wanting to stop, or separate. It takes them a good while to come down from their heights. But they do, eventually. His softening length slides free of her and slips back into his sheath. She shivers against him, keeps him wrapped in her legs, one arm around his shoulder. Slowly he moves them to rest in the shallower parts of the river, where it's less than five feet deep, sitting her sideways in his lap and leaning her into his strong chest. She is still breathing heavily, they both are, and she has her head lying on his shoulder when he turns his face to hers. She grabs the back of his head and pulls him in for a kiss.

This is home.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is just a little something I didn't want to include in When the Dry Season Ends because it diverges from the domestic fluff kind-of-AU that I want to stick to. Might turn into a new series. As always, comments are more than welcome.


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